The Day I Woke Up
by Griselda Banks
Summary: Oneshot. Al has regained his original body, and getting used to it is an adventure unlike any other. Join him as he learns to breathe, walk, and much more. If you so much as suggest that this is Elricest, I will personally decapitate you.


**Disclaimer: I do not own FMA, nor do I own "Sense." These belong, respectively, to Hiromu Arakawa/BONES Studio/whoever else, and Samurai101. **

**Author's Note: This one-shot was inspired by Samurai101's beautiful fic "Sense". Quite obviously, hers was much better-written than mine, but I wanted to try my hand at writing something similar. While Samurai101 focused on the five senses that Al experienced after returning to his body, I decided to focus also on certain things he hadn't been able to do as a suit of armor. I'm not going to go into too much detail about how his body was returned to him or what exactly happened, though I do follow the anime ending somewhat; you can decide the details for yourself.**

**Some of these observations, namely the shower scene, have come directly from my own personal experience as I recovered from back surgery. I hope they give this fic a sense of realism. **

**Dedication: For Samurai101, the ultimate inspiration for this piece. Though you may never read this, I would like to thank you all the same for bestowing on us all the beauty that is "Sense." **

The first thing I became aware of was a dull thumping sound. _Whump-thump. Whump-thump. Whump-thump._ I could feel something - a slight tingling - all through my body. _My blood, pounding through my veins,_ I thought. Other than that tingling, everything was still and silent. Then I felt something different, something very unpleasant. It felt hot and burning, somewhere in the middle of my body. The thumping of my heartbeat quickened to a _thump-thump-thump-thump._ A desperate thought flitted through my torpid brain: _I'm going to die._

But why? What was going to cause this imminent death? And suddenly I remembered: You have to breathe, or you'll suffocate and die. For a panicked moment, I couldn't remember _how_. I hadn't done such a thing for five years. But as the staccato of my heartbeat pounded insistently against my temples, out of desperation I opened my lungs and began to breathe. That first breath was the most wonderful thing I've ever experienced. I could feel that blessed air filling my lungs, the breath of life coursing through my hot body, bringing coolness and comfort with it. When my lungs were full of that wonderful air, I let it all out again in one smooth gush and let my lungs fill again. In and out, inhale and exhale. I was content just to breathe for what felt like a long time. My heartbeat slowed down to its normal speed, and I let the life trapped in those oxygen molecules spread all through my body.

Gradually, I became aware of two slight pressures on either side of the thumping core I knew was my heart. The one on the right felt soft and warm; the one on the left was smooth and very, very cold. Something seemed to pierce right through my mind: I was _feeling._ Something began to burn up above my heart, somewhere around where my helmet should have been. There was a burning in one spot, and a little below that was a slight tickle, and down farther, just above my heart, was a constricted throb. I didn't understand until I felt something wet streaking down what I realized were my cheeks. Two small tears trickled down my face, swiftly followed by more tears as I realized with increasing excitement that I was _feeling_ again.

All of a sudden, like the dawn breaking over the horizon, I realized why everything was so dark. I hadn't opened or closed my eyes for five whole years; it took me a long time to remember which muscles went to my eyelids. When at last I had located them, those long-dormant muscles flexed and my eyelids slid open. A blast of light crashed through my whole body, as wonderful and as filled with life as that first breath I had taken. At first, the brightness of the light overwhelmed me and I could only catch my breath at the wonder of it. Yet gradually I became aware of a swirl of colors: white, and red, and yellow, and orange - no, pink. I think there was some black in there too. Everything was in blobs all over the place, and none of it made any sense. But before I could try to make out what I was seeing, I heard something.

There was a relieved sigh, and I could feel someone's breath brushing across my face. "Whew," came a familiar voice that shook with emotion. "I was worried for a minute there, when you weren't breathing."

I knew that voice so well! That voice had been with me, right by my side, all through the misery I had known for so long. I had heard it when it was cheerful, angry, scared, and sad. I had heard that voice laugh, and cry, and scream and yell. Suddenly I remembered what had happened before I became aware of all that silence and darkness. I had been lying down, immobile on the activated transmutation circle, and fearfully watching my brother fight Envy. Envy had been trying to gain the upper hand by changing his appearance to all the people we loved. But my brother would not fall for that old trick. Even when Envy showed his true form, revealing that he was actually our half-brother, my brother managed to leap backwards as Envy's arm shot towards him, sharp as a sword.

I became distracted then, because Gluttony had started eating away at my armor, getting ever closer to the blood seal. I'm still not very clear on what my brother did, but somehow he got rid of Envy, Dante, and Gluttony. When my brother freed me and I asked him what he'd done, he mumbled something about the Gate and said it didn't matter. 'I'm going to bring you back now, Al,' he had said, wiping blood and sweat off his face. I had felt excitement swell inside me as my brother clapped his hands and placed them gently against my chestplate.

As I heard my brother's relieved voice, I suddenly understood: It had worked. I had my body back. Just as the colorful blobs began to come into focus, everything blurred again and more tears ran down my cheeks, falling into my ears. I hastily blinked them away, for I wanted more than anything else to see my brother's face. Everything crashed into sharp focus, and I could see my brother looking down at me with a huge grin. Still, there was worry hiding behind his golden eyes. "Al?" he asked in a strained voice. "Can you hear me?"

Then came an irrepressible urge to say something, anything, just so I could tell my brother it had worked. But once again, I found I had forgotten how. I had never stopped to wonder how I could speak when I was an empty suit of armor. I had no vocal cords or even a mouth to form the words, yet somehow when I tried to say something the words would simply come out. I tried to say something this time, but I realized I needed to do something a bit more. Slowly, my mind dredged up old memories of speaking, and watching other people as they spoke. I had never thought too much about how they did it, but I could recall their lips moving to shape the air they pressed out of their lungs, and that little bump in their necks that would wobble up and down. I took a deep breath and pressed my lips together, clumsily formed an 'o' with them, pressed my tongue against my teeth, and made it retreat.

"Brother..." I croaked out slowly, saying the first thing that came to my mind.

A huge smile spread across my brother's face as that one word reassured him I was well and whole. "Al..." he said, his voice wobbling. I felt his hands grip my shoulders harder and watched as his lips began to tremble. That was when I remembered: I had hands, too. I now had a body just like my brother's. Slowly, I clenched my left hand into a fist and opened it again. Rapidly remembering how to use the muscles of my arm, I moved my hand up to where my brother's left hand rested on my shoulder. He watched its slow progress as though it was a snake instead of my hand. Then my fingers touched his hand, feeling the soft, slightly rough cloth of his white glove. I paused, and my brother immediately tugged off the glove, understanding my unspoken request.

As soon as I felt warm skin beneath my fingertips, I gripped his hand as hard as I could. I could feel his strong pulse and his bony knuckles. There is strength in his hands, those hands that have clapped together so many times. I could feel my own weakness as I clutched his hand with all my strength. My own hand was cold and trembling, pale and delicate like a woman's. So I held onto my brother's hand in the vague hope that some of his strength might pass to me. My brother stared at our clasped hands for a few moments, his lower lip trembling and his eyes blinking furiously. He turned those golden eyes to my face and burst into tears.

My brother isn't someone who cries easily. He is filled with emotion, but he has seen many things, and he always tries to be strong for others. So he tries to keep his tears inside, but sometimes something happens that hits him with such force that not even he can keep back those tears. This was one of those times, the day he reached his goal at last, and seeing me back in my body broke all the barriers inside him. All the tears I knew he had been longing to shed since the night he lost his arm and leg broke out and flowed down his face. He clutched my hand with his flesh and blood hand and pressed it to his forehead, crying out all his relief and joy. I cried too, clutching my brother's hand as though my life depended on it.

* * *

I had to relearn many things after I woke up to find myself in my body again. Remembering how to use my muscles was probably the hardest part. For days, my limbs felt heavy and I moved slowly. I suppose the years I spent as a hollow, tireless suit of armor made me forget just how heavy all those bones and muscles really are. My brother had to teach me how to walk; he sort of made a project out of it. Every morning after I had eaten breakfast and rested (chewing even soft food like eggs or rice wore me out), he would help me to sit up, hang my legs over the side of my hospital bed, and slip down onto the ground. The first time I tried to stand, my legs buckled underneath me. But my brother caught me. He always caught me when I stumbled or fell, and I always cried when I felt his strong hands holding me upright. He always thought that he was hurting me, or that I was crying out of despair that I would ever have control of my body again. He didn't realize that I was crying tears of joy.

Once my legs became used to holding up my weight again, my brother would put his arm around me and hold my weight as I hobbled around the room. The warmth of his arm around me and his encouraging words in my ear gave me the strength to continue even when I felt like giving up. Finally, at the end of the first week, I could walk the length of the hallway and back with my arm linked through my brother's.

I had to learn how to eat and drink (at first my brother fed me like a baby), how to wield eating utensils and pencils, and even how to go to the bathroom. _That_ was embarrassing. My brother didn't stare at me strangely or laugh when I wet my bed that first night. He nodded matter-of-factly, as though it was an easy mistake to make, and helped me to the toilet. When I apologized, he simply shrugged and said it was like the good old days. I asked him what 'good old days' he meant, and he said, "Oh, you know, all those times when I was like five and I had to help you to the toilet every morning." I blushed then, surprised even through my mortification at the heat mounting in my cheeks.

Other things were a bit easier to relearn, of course. Smiling and laughing came easily as I shared in my brother's joy, and I marvelled at how natural and effortless sleeping was. For years, I had longed with all my heart to be able to sleep again. I had tried my hardest to fall asleep; I pretended and lay in bed like my brother, still and calm and praying I might just fall asleep when I wasn't paying attention. But a suit of armor has no need for sleep, and the most I could ever manage was a dark stupor devoid of intelligible thought. Yet now that I had a body that needed sleep, I found that I could simply close my eyes and slip away into another world. The first night after I got my body back, I kept on jerking awake, startled that I had actually fallen asleep. Even years after I got my body back, I was still a very light sleeper.

I'll never forget my first shower in my new body. It was in the second week since my brother had given me a real body, after I could walk reasonably well. Until then, the nurses would wash me with wet cloths as I lay in my bed, and once my brother had wheeled me down the hall in a wheelchair to a sink where a nurse washed my hair for me. But I felt that I was finally ready to bathe myself. I could stand upright without falling over, and my hands were nearly as versatile as they had been before. So my brother agreed, but he decided to sit on a stool inside the bathroom, just in case.

At first things were going very well. I loved the feel of the steaming water washing over my body, pounding down on my head like rain. I massaged my scalp with shampoo, and washed my whole body thoroughly. I was feeling very clean and pleased with myself by the time I turned off the water. At last, I felt, I could do something for myself instead of troubling my brother for it. My brother handed me a towel over the top of the shower, but as I dried myself off I began to feel...strange.

My ears were ringing as though I had just sat up suddenly after lying down for a long time, and strange shapes began to appear before my eyes. They were very odd shapes, the sort of shapes you will see against your eyelids if you press on your eyeballs very hard. I felt light-headed, as though my head was drifting slowly upward, away from my body. I wrapped the towel around my waist and opened the sliding shower door, but suddenly my legs felt like rubber. I lowered myself down so I was squatting and groaned, "Brother...I don't...feel so good."

He was already at my side, supporting me, asking me worriedly, "Al? Al, what's wrong?"

I tried to answer him, but the ringing in my ears had become a roar, and the shapes were blinding me, blocking everything else out of my vision. I think I must have fainted, because there is a small gap in my memory, and the next thing I can remember is sitting on the cold, tiled floor of the bathroom, dripping all over my brother.

"Al!" he was calling. "Al, are you okay?! Tell me what's wrong!"

I found it very hard to breathe, as though my lungs were sticking together. I gasped, but little air seemed to enter my lungs. My brother jumped up, threw open the bathroom door, and grabbed the book he had been reading, fanning me desperately. As the close, steamy air escaped through the open door, it gradually became easier to breathe. The ringing in my ears died away and the shapes disappeared, leaving me feeling drained and exhausted. My brother helped me dress myself and stumble back to my bed.

As I lay there, feeling tired and feverish, experiencing the beginnings of my first headache in five years, I asked my brother, "What happened to me? Why did I fall over like that?"

"I should've thought of it," he said, looking guilty as he sat down in his customary chair at the side of my bed. "All that steam and hot water was too much for you in that state. I'm sorry."

But I smiled, because I realized that if my brother had not given me this new body, I wouldn't even be able to faint.

I take very little for granted these days. Every morning when I wake up, I start the day with a huge smile because _I can sleep._ No longer am I forced to sit up all through the many long nights while I watch my brother sleep. Once again, my brother and I lie awake late into the night, talking in whispers. And when we grow too sleepy to talk, we lull each other to slumber with our deep, contented breathing. I dream now, real dreams that are more than the mere shadowy phantoms that used to chase me around when I was a suit of armor.

Every day, old and familiar things seem new to me all over again. The feel of my blankets, of my brother's skin as I shake him awake. The smell of bacon and eggs drifting up from the kitchen, the taste of my brother's milk that he makes me drink for him. The warmth on my skin from the sunlight streaming in through the windows, the grumbling feeling in my stomach that speaks of hunger. I cherish pain and unpleasant sensations, because even they are better than the void I was trapped in for so long. The first time I stubbed my toe, I burst out laughing at the stinging pain that shot up my leg. My brother laughs at me sometimes, telling me I still act like a ten-year-old - enthusiastic about everything, and always reaching out to feel the textures of various objects. He's right, but neither of us cares very much. I missed so much of life during the five years I spent as a suit of armor that now I have to make up for lost time.

We never talk about what happened the day I woke up in my body. Occasionally, when I look at my brother's automail limbs, a shadow falls momentarily over the sun that lights up my days. I don't like thinking that while I regained my original body, my brother still has to suffer with metal limbs. The day after he brought back my body, I began to ask him if he still wanted to search for a way to return his body to normal, but he shook his head before I could even finish. He said he was content to live the way he was; even with the various difficulties automail presents, he had always been able to do the things I couldn't. All through those five years, he could sleep and eat and feel. He was missing an arm and a leg, but he reassured me he could do without them for the rest of his life. They also serve as an excuse to keep visiting Winry - but he didn't mention that part.

Secretly, I'm glad my brother doesn't want to search for a way to regain his missing limbs. I don't want to go through the worry and danger we've experienced all over again, even if it would be for my brother's sake. And as long as those metal limbs remain in place, I will always be reminded of the depths of my brother's love.


End file.
